A Light After Dawn
by alienkiller2015
Summary: Following the defeat of Alduin, and the secession from the Empire, the Dragonborn feels a change in the motions. He begins to notice there is a sinister Vampiric threat hanging in the air, and he is sucked right back into a full-scale war. Read and review, any feedback is appreciated. This Nord is my own character, and will remain nameless.
1. Chapter 1

Almost like a predator, the Nord could nearly smell the scent of Vampires. The cold blasts of air didn't affect him, as his Nordic blood protected him. His Ancient Nordic armor helped with that, as did the Helm of Yngol.

A cry of battle, and a woman flung herself at him. Impossible strength for a Breton woman her size grabbed at his wrists, but his own strength matched her. He catches her wrists, and throws her across the clearing, giving him time to prepare.

A steel battle axe was unsheathed, and held aloft in one hairy, scarred hand. His breath clouded in the air, as the two silently began to size one another up. She moved first, quickly utilizing a spell that only Vampires used. He was wary, and circled her.

As she extended her right arm, he slammed his axe downwards, catching her at the middle of her hand. The half that was caught was immediately torn off, and the rest was a mangled, bloody distraction. A cry of outrage followed by a punch to his chest occurred, and he was surprised to see that the punch merely dented his armor. He hasn't budged.

"What are you?" She asked, and he swung his axe with every ounce of strength in his body. It hit her in the side, and nearly cleaved her in two.

"The end of you." He said, his voice was the only sound to be heard in the area. He tugged at the axe with a wet rip, and grabbed her body. Ripping a piece of cloth off of it, he cleaned the two sides of it. His hands grab at the axe, and he sheathed it onto his back.

He was becoming frightened by this sudden outburst of Vampiric activity. As Skyrim's protector, and as the leader of the Companions, he was expected to lead the men and women of the Companions into battle. He had been too busy killing whatever Vampire made themselves known to do so, however.

The walk back to Windhelm was among one of the easiest. Just as he believed so, a bandit leapt out of the snowberry bush. Quickly unsheathing his axe, he deflected the man's sword with the pole of his axe, and slammed the butt of the pole against the man's knee. Upon the man's fall, he slammed the heel of his grieves against the man's face. A crunch signified the breaking of the bandit's nose. The Nord reached down, and lifted the Imperial off of his feet, easily.

"Why do you live a life of crime? Even if you get the money, where can you use it?" This was one of his biggest issues. Despite looking the part of being some barbarian, he made the effort to understand as much as he can. That was a significant amount of things.

The sudden feeling of wetness on his cheek caused him to sigh. A large hand slammed into the man's face, knocking him out. The Dragonborn grabbed the man's collar, and began to drag him to Windhelm.

Around a half hour later, he finally pushed the doors to the Hall of Kings open, and threw the man in front of Ulfric Stormcloak, his best friend.

"Ah, Dragonborn. I see you have brought me what looks like a broken bandit. Is it you I have to thank for this piece of filth?" He asked casually, and the Dragonborn bowed his head.

"Guards, take him to the dungeon." The guards immediately grabbed the struggling Imperial. His strength was no match for the Nords, though.

"I'm worried of the amount of Vampiric activity around the province, My Lord." The Dragonborn spoke, and Ulfric looked as if he wanted to laugh.

"I am not your lord, my friend. You are the most powerful man in the province. You could easily dismantle me." Ulfric said, and casually threw a hand up.

"I have fought tooth and nail for you to get to where you are, Ulfric. I would never turn on that, or you. You are one of my best friends." Ulfric's smile became warm, and nodded.

"Agreed, Stormblade. Your very name made the sons and daughters of Skyrim fill with hope, and filled any Imperial bastard with dread. Your very name could have won battles." Ulfric said. Memories of him slaughtering Imperials filled his mind, and he shook his head. They had won the civil war, but at what cost?

"You are conflicted. Come, let us go somewhere more private." Ulfric stood, and the Dragonborn followed. They made their way to his quarters, where he sat in a comfortable chair.

"I am worried, Ulfric. My purpose is no more. I have vanquished Alduin, and I have united Skyrim as one. There is no more for me to do. Why do I continue living?" His proud and strong shoulders seemed to sag, and the usual cheery silver eyes seemed to dim.

"When the time is right, you will be needed, Dragonborn. Skyrim is not the only lands of Nirn, as you know. Maybe your fate lies in the other parts of Tamriel." He suggested. The Dragonborn looked up, and the strength of his eyes quickly returned.

"I have heard the guards chattering. Some sort of Vampire hunter group. They call it the Dawnguard. Have you heard of it?" The man stroked the hair on his chin, before finally remembering.

"I have. A fort off of the side of Riften. It used to belong to the Jarl, and that's where he started the Dawnguard. At one point, Skyrim was extremely dangerous to travel. The Vampires were brave. Foolish, but brave." He concluded. Stormblade stood, and he shook the man's hand.

"It is always a pleasure, friend. Farewell." Ulfric said, and crawled into bed. Stormblade quickly walked out of the castle, and into the Skyrim atmosphere. Easily walking by the guards, they all stopped him.

"Gilmar, Helda, how are you? Alvar, it's been a long time. I'll have to buy you a mug, sometime!" It continued until he had finally left the city. He didn't mind it at all, truthfully. The Stormcloaks were a brotherly/sisterly group. They were all kin to one another.

The hike to Riften was done in the usual fashion. Constant vigilance paired with a taste of paranoia kept him from being eaten alive by a frostbite spider. He hated the damn things, and wished they would die out.

As he walked by a Dwarven ruin, he quickly marked his map as to where he would have to return. He loved the Dwemer, and the mystery behind them. It was extremely fascinating to him how quickly they had vanished, and the fact that what they had left behind made any race seem as if they were imbeciles. He shook his head, and he continued forward.

His thoughts drifted to the fact that he was going this far due to his lycanthropy. People were not aware of this fact, and he was quite happy about that. His mastery over the beastly transformations had come to the point that his beast form was more powerful than any other in the lands. Fitting of the Dragonborn.

He began to clean his fingernails with the small dagger he kept in his satchel. The dirt and grime underneath quite honestly disappointed him, and he promised he would take a bath when he returned. Lakewood was a perfect spot for a bath.

Within the night he was there, and the music of the heavens played to him. The auroras were full-strength, tonight, and he found himself in awe. Even if he had grown here, he found himself still in awe as to how beautiful his homeland truly was. Skyrim never ceased to amaze him.

He entered the city, and stared at the guard that had attempted to haggle him when he first arrived. The man knew better now, especially since he had saved the entire city from a Legendary Dragon.

He quickly walked up to his only friend in the city, Mjoll the Lioness. Her strong but beautiful face stared into his.

"Mjoll, how goes it?" Her blue eyes light up, and she hugs him tightly. A slender but strong arm snakes around the back of his neck, and pulls him in tightly.

"You gave me a scare, Dragonborn. When I heard you went to Sovngarde I thought they meant you had fallen in battle. I got drunk, and I prayed to the Gods that you had been granted the honor. You of all people deserve it." She said, and laid a hand on his shoulder. It was no secret to him that she harbors feelings for him, but he was just not ready to be a husband, or a father. He had too many responsibilities.

"Thank you, my friend. I need your help. I have heard that they are reopening a fort nearby. Do you know anything about it?" His silver eyes blink, and she thinks for a second. It was not apparently known by her, and he felt himself becoming aggravated. He figured with her ties to the guards she would be able to tell. He bid her farewell, and began walking to the center of town. A fresh apple would do him good.

"I hear they're reforming the Dawnguard. Vampires hunters or something, in the fort near Dayspring Canyon." He heard a passing guard say to whomever he walked with. His eyes widen, and he nodded. It was about damn time. That apple could wait. He turned to walk away.

"Screw that." He turned back and bought the apple.

As he munched on his apple, his walk was slow. It was at night that he truly took his time to bask in the beauty of his homeland. Skyrim was beautiful during the day, but it was the aurorae that made it truly special. His view of Nirn's two moons was priceless. Too bad he couldn't draw if his life depended on it. His hands were too heavy for such detail, and he knew this. Trying would be fruitless.

He finally saw the beginning of the canyon. He shrugged through the small cave, and grumbled as he was forced to bend over. He continued cursing under his breath until he was finally on the other side. The land here was beautiful, as well. He took a deep breath of the clean air and sighed in content. Easily walking forward, he moved past rabbits, and the occasional elk.

A blond boy of maybe seventeen stood there. He was well-built, but he was no warrior. A handsome face stood out, but his slouched shoulders took away any attention that may have been paid to his features. Sky blue eyes met his own silver ones, and he could see the man blanch. The Helm of Yngol must have intimidated him, and Stormblade didn't blame him. Most men shook in their boots when they took in the sight of his form.

"Oh, hey there! Are you here to join the Dawnguard, too? Truth is, I'm a little nervous. I've never done anything like this, before. I hope you don't mind if I walk up with you." Stormblade laughed a hearty laugh, and clutched at his stomach.

"It is no trouble, lad! Company is always welcome." Stormblade himself was more than likely to not be much older than this man. Being twenty-eight, he was young. He, however, had seen more than anyone his age. It was both sobering and enlightening.

"Hey, uh, don't tell Isran I was afraid to meet him by myself? It wouldn't be the best introduction for a Vampire hunter." Stormblade laughed again, as the two walked together. Stormblade was more filled out, and a couple inches taller. He was large by Nord standards, nearly the height of an Altmer. Nearly. He hated that he had missed it by an inch or two. Despite that, he was taller than most other men he has come across, and his strength has been matched by few. By name, the only men that have gotten close to-and matched in the former's case-were Chief Burguk of the Dushnikh Tribe, and Farkas of the Companions.

"Do not worry, whelp. You are fine with me." The two walked up the pathway to the massive fort. The sight of which unnerved the smaller Nord, and impressed the larger. Stormblade quickly bumped into an Orc whilst staring at the fort. He made a cry of surprise, and the Dragonborn quickly stepped back, ready for whatever may follow.

"Be careful next time!" The Orc shouted. His dark hair was shaved on the sides and back, and was placed in a small ponytail. The man's tusks were large, and he had the usual yellow eyes of the Orsimer. He squinted his eyes, and Stormblade could see the intelligence behind them. This was not your typical Orc, that was certain.

"You there. The Dawnguard is looking for anyone willing to combat the growing Vampire menace. What say you?" His baritone voice echoed around the clearing, and Stormblade rubbed a hand against his chin.

"I was already aware of what was going on. The sudden increase of Vampiric activity in Skyrim has been an unsettling development. That is why I have come here." The Orc nodded, and began walking towards a tree stump.

"You'll want one of these, then." He handed the crossbow to the clearly confused Nord. Stormblade has never seen a weapon of this sort, and it was clear. Polished wood was topped with a carved metal arc. A trigger of some sort sat at the bottom, and fit his finger in there nicely.

"You've never seen a crossbow before, eh? These are the best blood sucker killing weapon you'll find, guaranteed." He was extremely excited about the weapon, and it was clear. However, Stormblade was not much of an archer. His aim was horrible, and his dislike of bows led him to complete disregard over this weapon. He handed the weapon back to the Orc.

"I'm not much of an archer. Thank you anyways, though. Come, whelp. Let us talk to this Isran, shall we?" The Orc gave them a parting word, and the two were off. They rounded a small hill, and came upon an Imperial man standing at the top. He wore the same buckled armor the Orc wore.

"New recruits. Hmmm. Isran will decide what to make of you. Go ahead in, he's right inside." The man said. He crossed his arms, and Stormblade decided he was unimpressed with the showing.

"I'll tell you, the only thing more surprising than hearing from Isran was hearing that he needed help. I realized things must have been bad, apparently I was right." Stormblade nodded and agreed.

"You knew Isran before this mess? I assume you two worked together?" The Imperial nodded, and sighed.

"I did. There was a time, years ago, when we were both Vigilants of Stendarr. We were both equally dissatisfied with the group. Of course, their hearts were in the right place, but Isran and I were never comfortable there. We left together, but our partnership did not last long. I found his methods...Questionable." He left the last bit there, and the Dragonborn didn't know what he should think about it. Questionable methods were something to be aware of, but in the topic of Vampires, was it necessary. It was a sticky situation, for sure.

Easily pushing through the front doors, his boots echoing against the fairly empty chamber. Sunlight poured through the roof, and into the center of the room. The young Nord stood behind him, and he took all of the attention. Two men stood in the middle of the room.

"Why are you here, Tolan? The Vigilants and I were done with each other years ago." A Redguard man stood in the middle of the room. He was strongly built, and was bald. Startlingly blue eyes made themselves known to Stormblade, who was rather put off by them. Typically, blue eyes were mostly common amongst Nords, then Imperials. It was incredibly rare to see them on a Redguard of all people.

"You know why I am here, Isran. The Vigilants are under attack everywhere. The Vampires are much more dangerous than we previously believed." The man seemed to plead for help.

"Now you're running to safety with the Dawnguard, is that it? I remember Keeper Carcette telling me that Fort Dawnguard is a crumbling ruin, not worth the coin or the men needed to repair it. Now that you've stirred the Vampires against you, you'd like to come to beg for my protection?" The harshness in his voice bewildered the Dragnborn. Stormblade frowned, as he stared at the Redguard. This man was not someone who made good first impression, that was for damn sure.

"Isran, Carcette is dead. The Hall of the Vigilants...Everyone...They're all dead. You were right. We were wrong. Is that not good enough for you?" The broken anger at the end startled the Redguard back into composure, and reality. He sobered, and looked down at his feet.

"Yes, well...I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn all of you. I am sorry, you know." He pushed by the Vigilant of Stendarr, and approached the greater of the two potential threats. Walking up to Stormblade, he noted the apparent strength of the Nord.

"Who are you? What do you want?" His eyes begin to tighten, as if looking for a slip up.

"I am Stormblade, General of the Stormcloak army, Harbinger of the Companions, and the Dragonborn of Legend." The proclamation surprised the Vigilant and the young Nord, but the seasoned Redguard didn't budge an inch.

"Why would the mighty Dragonborn come to us lowly Vampire hunters? To what do I owe this honor?" His sarcasm made the Nord angry, and it was apparent.

"If you have something to say to me, Redguard, I suggest saying it." A thick finger slammed into the man's chest, and he stumbled. Isran glared at the Nord, and wiped off the spot of his armor.

"You Nords and your lack of self-control." Stormblade grit his teeth with that, and shook his head.

"I heard you were looking for Vampire hunters. I came because I was worried for Skyrim, and I have noticed their activity." He said, and the man thought for a second.

"You heard right. It's good that word is beginning to go around, but that means the Vampires will begin to know as well."

"What do you need me to do?" Isran already knew the Nord was very capable. His track record showed that he very rarely screwed up, and he always fixed said screw-ups, somehow.

"I need someone in the field taking the fight to the damn Vampires. At least while we're repairing the fort. Tolan was telling me about a cave the Vigilants were looking into, they believed there was a connection between it and the recent Vampire attacks. Tolan, tell him about...What was it? Dimhollow?" Isran turned to the man, and the Nord stepped forward.

"Yes, that's it. Dimhollow Crypt. Brother Adalvald believed that it had some sort of ancient Vampire relic. We didn't listen to him any more than we did Isran. He was at the Hall, when it was attacked." The man said, and hung his head, dejectedly. Stormblade felt for the Nord.

"That's good enough for me. Go see what these Vampires want in Dimhollow Crypt. With any luck, they'll still be there." Isran said, growling at the end. Stormblade merely nodded.

"I'll meet you at Dimhollow. It's the least I can do for my fallen brothers." The Vigilant of Stendarr said. Stormblade's eyes immediately became flat, and unentertained.

"Absolutely not. You will only get yourself killed." Stormblade said, and Isran nodded.

"I agree, the Vigilants were never trained for…"

"I know what you think of us. You think we're soft, and we're weak. You think we're cowards, and that our death proved our weakness. Stendarr grant that you do not have to face the same test, and be found wanting. I'm going. Perhaps I can assist you." He added. The Nord shook his head.

"You would only slow me down, Vigilant. Live, friend. Restart the Vigilants. I shall kill them in your friends' names." Tolan looked torn. He had wanted to go, but he knew that the Dragonborn was right.

"I'm on my way there, now. I shall be back when my job is done. Until then, Isran. Good luck, whelp." He left the fort laughing over Isran's comments on the farm boy.

It had taken three days to reach the Crypt, and he was excited to be back in nature. Being pent up in cities for too long made him feel coddled, and weak. He made his way through the entrance, and quickly began moving forward. He stopped when his sensitive hearing began picking up voices.

"These Vigilants never know when to give up! I thought we'd taught them their lesson at their precious Hall." An accented voice called throughout the cave.

"To come here alone...A fool, just like the rest of them." A disgusted female voice responded. Stormblade walked forward, wondering who they were talking about.

"He fought well, though. Jeron and Bresoth were no match for him." The male said back to the female.

"Ha! Those two got what they deserved. Their arrogance had become insufferable." She said back, clear satisfaction laced in her voice. Deciding enough was enough, Stormblade ripped into the cave. A black hound of some demonic sort launched at him, and nearly bit him. He slammed his axe down on its skull, and the hound died in a howl. He heard the chatter stop, and he turned to see two Vampires.

"Look what we have here. A lone Nord. I wonder what he'll taste like." A Breton and Dark Elf made themselves known, and he chuckled.

"You won't be finding out anytime soon." They launched into combat. He deflected a dagger with the flat part of his blade, and sent the man off balance. He turned just in time to be weakened by a red spell. He grunted through the pain, and slammed the end of his pole in her nose, enjoying the crunching sound. His eyes widen as a dagger found a chink in his armor. He growled into the air, the sound echoing.

He ripped the dagger out, and shoved it straight under the jaw. The dagger pushed out of his skull. He lifted the body, and threw him at the Breton female. As she laid on the ground, he lifted the axe high above his head, and slammed the blade down on her face. It lodged into her skull, and blood sprayed his face.

He walked up to Vigilant Tolan's body, and his anger subsided. He knelt beside the man, and laid a hand on the man's face, and closed his eyes. He would have to be buried like a Nord, and not left there like an object.

Lifting him from his spot, he laid him down gently on the snow, and turned. He walked through the now open gate, and continued moving forward. He took a right into a narrow corridor, and smelled the sickly scent of Vampires and death in the air. The scent led him to the right, and a Vampire held her hands up. A red light blasted at him again, and he felt himself weaken. He growled, and spun, trying to gain momentum. The axe swung through the air, and he hit her in her neck. One of the steel blades slammed into the neck of the Vampire, and she coughed blood. He ripped the axe out, and her life ended on the ground. The frostbite spider she had attempted to resurrect also died.

"Who's there?" He heard being called. Another black hound leapt at him through the doorway. Stormblade caught the dog by the collar, and slammed its skull off of the ground. He threw the beastly dog at the Vampire it accompanied and charged them both. He swung the axe, causing the Vampire to back up. She danced around his blade, while readying her spell. He looked at the ground, and found a small urn he could throw at her. Quickly, he threw the pottery off of her face. While she was distracted, he hit her in the stomach with the pole, and slammed his axe into her rib cage. She cried out in pain, and the Imperial Vampire was no more.

Easily skirting by her, he continued down the hallway. He stopped at the sight of a Draugr Deathlord.

"Talos curse me." He said to himself. The Draugr spotted him, and pointed. The undead smelled like...Well, death. The glowing blue eyes of the undead never sat well with Stormblade, as long as he could remember. The Draugr ran forward, and they clashed their blades together. Due to no openings becoming available, Stormblade smashed a fist into its face, staggering it. He slammed his axe into the undead's knee, lopping the leg off at that joint. The creature hopped on a single leg, before the Dragonborn kicked it in the chest, sending it against the stone wall. The wall cracked and split where it landed.

He watched as the intelligent, evil eyes of the Deathlord died out. The blue light of ancient curses quickly faded. Hopefully the soul of the Nord was redeemed. Thousands of years of undeath was a punishment that would change the soul of any mortal man, even if they could not control what they were doing in their undeath.

He pushed on, quickly coming into a small opening. Water pooled in the center of the room, and there was a woman sitting on the rocks across from him. By the stature, she looked to be Breton. He was growing tired of seeing these-once-people becoming these creatures. He had no issues with Vampirism, it was the actions that the monsters-those that took pleasure in being murderers-that he had issues with. As he walked across the water, he felt a hand grab his exposed knee. He looked down, and saw the glowing blue eyes of a skeleton. The bones creaked, and their jaws rattled. He looked over, and saw multiple holding his legs. He quickly ripped one leg away, and grit his teeth as their bone dug into his flesh. It healed quickly, but it still hurt.

He smashed a heavy boot down on one of their skulls, crushing it underneath his boot. The Breton Vampire quickly stood, and she got her magic ready to fight him. This was a sticky situation, and he had to be careful on this one. Looking around himself, he saw where the skeletons were, and how much time he had. Lifting his axe above his head, he set it back, and threw it as hard as he could. The axe spun through the air, and slammed into the Breton, sending her flying into the wall. The rock wall easily caught the axe, and she was left impaled on the wall.

He quickly took out the two axes that were sheathed in his hips. While not being nearly as dangerous with one-handed weapons, he still was formidable with them. He easily caught the blade of one, and broke another skeleton apart with another. On the last, he hit the leg with one, and came down with another. Standing, he took a deep sigh. While Lycanthropy may have blessed him with extra stamina, going three days straight of hiking had taken a toll on him. He sat on the floor, and took a deep breath. Reaching for his satchel, he took out a still fresh piece of mammoth steak, and a potato.

When he had finished his meal, he stood. He continued to walk up to his axe, and saw the struggling Vampire. While she was strong enough to free herself as a Vampire, she didn't have the reach to do so. He stood in front of her, and decided some answers were well-deserved.

"Your kin attacked the Hall of Vigilants. Why? What did you have to gain from this?" He asked, and looked into her orange eyes. She laughed, the mad cackling making him feel hopeless for the interview.

"You really think I'd tell you?" She didn't expect him to pull a dagger from her skeleton friends, and held it against her throat. "What now? You're going to stab me?" He quickly sliced her in the face, and grabbed salt. While it was not one of their weaknesses, he hoped she would still feel it. He threw the salt in the wound, and waited for her to react. She didn't.

He pulled the axe from the wall, and grabbed her by the throat. He slammed her down with one arm, and kept her there using his Lythocampric strength. He took out an axe from his hip satchel, and held it above her head. She laughed all the while. It was when her head rolled down the small hill that her laughing ended. He stood, and sighed. He didn't want to do that. Grabbing his axe by the pole, he lifted it out of the dirt. He continued walking with it in his right hand, and moved through the doorway.

Moving through, he found himself in another catacomb. The scent of Draugr, Vampires, and those hounds polluted the already musty air. Cringing as he entered the catacomb, he was faced with what he smelled. Except, they all turned to him. Seriously?

He sidestepped a downward swing from the great sword of the Draugr only to nearly step into a dagger of the Vampire. He narrowly avoided another stab by the Deathlord, and had to think quickly.

"Wuld Nah Kest!" He felt himself being thrown down the hallway, and turned to see the Vampire and Draugr both being confused. The hound leapt at him, and caught his armored wrist. He slammed the head of the dog against the wall, chipping the stone. He threw the Dog on the floor, and stepped on its neck.

The Deathlord came first, and held him closely, as they both fought for dominance. The undead Nord pressed on, relentless in its attack. It's inability to feel pain leaving it with an advantage. He felt a sword stab him in the side of the throat, and fell to a knee. He roared into the sky, as his bones popped and cracked. A solid fist send the Vampire tumbling down the hallway, and the Draugr swung his greatsword. A clawed hand caught the blade.

Towering over the Draugr, the Werewolf unleashed a roar that could have deafened any normal man. He snaps the blade in his paws, and backhanded the Draugr. It crashed against the wall, where it went flying through. The Werewolf bolted down the hallway, and slammed into the retreating Vampire. Easily, it tore into the undead flesh of the Vampire. Blood sprayed everywhere as the impossibly strong teeth of the Wolf ripped a chunk out of her shoulder. She cried in pain and shock as she began to bleed. She tried to drain his health, but he caught her arm. He lifted her from her arm, and crunched his jaws over her head.

Spitting brain matter out of his now untransformed mouth was certainly an interesting experience, that was for sure. He wiped the blood from his mouth, and washed it out with the nearest clean water that he found. He pushed on his feet, and realized that he had forgotten the Ring of Hircine at home. It was fine, he was ready for any unexpected attacks.

He quickly found there was another gate. Another Vampire made quick work of an enormous Frostbite spider. Stormblade easily pushed the lever, and prepared himself for a difficult fight. The spider rose in a purple light, and he couldn't help but shudder in disgust. Necromancy disgusted him to no ends. As the spider lunged, the Vampire threw a bolt of lightning. Stormblade rolled out of the way, and made it so he could easily lunge to his feet. He danced around the spider, making certain that the Vampire was behind it at all times. When the spider lunged again, he caught its legs, and threw it back at the Vampire, successfully taking them both off guard.

He quickly dispatched of the surprised spider, and it dissolved into ash. The look seemed to be one of grudging gratefulness. The two quickly circled one another. The Breton man smiled cruelly, and savagely. His sharp teeth put on display for the Lycanthrope.

"So, a lone Nord has cut down every single Vampire thrown his way. I can't help but be impressed. You haven't faced one of my caliber, though." The Vampire's voice was soft, and melodious as they circled one another. The Vampire's voice made him feel sleepy, as if the fighting he had done finally caught up to him. His arms began to feel heavy, and his eyes heavier. It was as if the stamina the Wolf gave him was totally nullified. He tried to fight it off, but he felt himself begin to crouch on the ground. He couldn't control his fatigue.

He fell to a knee, and slouched forward. He heard the soft laugh of the Vampire, and felt himself becoming even more weak during it. His eyes finally closed to end the burning, and he felt himself begin to cloud. He heard the steps towards him, and felt the Wolf fighting the magic.

" _WAKE UP!"_ His eyes snapped open, and he moved fast enough to catch the Vampire off guard. Laying an uppercut to the jaw of the Vampire, the Breton's tongue flew out of his mouth. He screamed in pain as blood flew from his mouth. Stormblade ran towards the Vampire full speed, and ran him through with the end of his axe. He lifted it above his head, and stood with the body above him. The Vampire laughed, and pushed off of the blade. He went flying off of it, and backflipped in the air. He landed on the ground, and the two clashed again. Their battle for dominance lasted seconds, as the massive Nord threw him across the room. The Breton dodged the swipes of Stormblade, and attempted to hit him. A stab of his own, and a blade was run through his stomach.

A large roar was heard around the room, and the Nord slammed his axe down on the dagger. It broke in the back, and he ripped out the front. He felt his insides and skin healing, and spun towards the Vampire. They continued to circle one another, testing one another. The two quickly met in the middle, and began parrying and countering one another's blows. Stormblade slammed the dagger he held out of the Breton's hand. When he prepared a downwards blow, the Vampire unleashed a barrage of lightning. Stormblade grunted, and yelled through the pain. He took a strong step forward, and fought through the lightning. The Vampire's eyes widened, and Stormblade finally stood above him. His armor was smoking, and his skin was singed. The Nord's broad shoulders rose and fell in rhythm, and he stood over the Vampire. His nostrils flared, and he grabbed the man from his arms. He lifted him above his head, and slammed him down on the ground. He roared as he swung his axe down on the man. It tore into his stomach, and he ripped it to the side, effectively gutting him.

He turned from the sight of the man's torn stomach, and trudged forward. His skin stung as he healed, as it was sore, and sensitive. He shifted uncomfortably in his armor, and took a deep breath. He opened the old wooden door, and entered the cavern.

"I believe you, Vigilant. I don't think you even know what you've found here." A Vampire said. "So, go and meet your precious Stendarr." The snapping of a neck was heard, and the unease of another Vampire could be smelled from even where he stood.

"Was that truly a wise idea, Lokil? Maybe he could have been some use of us." The other Vampire said. From what he could smell, there were two Vampires, and the scent of an Orc. However, it was strange. While the Orc smelled relatively normal, there was something odd about it. It was as if it had something added to it.

"He knew nothing. He outlived his usefulness when he brought us to this place. Now we are able to give Harkon the prize. We will not return without it. Vingalmo and Orthjolf will make way for me." Lokil said, and Stormblade could sense the arrogance from the spot where he stood. A thick eyebrow raised at the man's self-absorption.

"Don't forget the one who brought you the news of the Viglants' discovery, Lokil." The second Vampire said.

"I never forget who my friends are, nor who my enemies are." He said, a stubborn determination could be heard in his voice. If he were not the enemy, Stormblade could have respected that sentiment.

He looked over the sides of the walkway, and a bolt of lightning nearly hit him square in the face. Using his speed, he quickly sent himself flying the opposite way, back into the room. He waited at the top of the stairs, and fixed his helm. He waited for them, and braced himself. At the sight of the first Vampire, he struck with full strength. However, he saw the second raising their hands, getting ready to shoot a bolt of lightning. He slammed a foot into the knee of the first, and grabbed him. The bolt of lightning hit the Vampire in the back, and-using the iron helmet he wore-smashed his forehead against the nose of the first. He threw him over the side, and listened as he landed on the stone floor below. He quickly leapt off of the stairs, slamming his shoulder into the second Vampire.

As the Vampire rose, the Nord quickly used his axe to sweep his feet from him. The Vampire quickly leapt over the pole of the axe, and threw a dagger at Stormblade. Using the blade's momentum, he caught it at the hilt, spun, and threw it with all of his strength. The blade went straight through the right shoulder, where the Vampire wielded his draining spell. His right arm quickly hung limp, and the Dragonborn stabbed straight with his axe. The steel spike went straight through the Vampire's flesh, and as he pulled back, he slammed the blade of the axe into the man's left ribcage. His cry of pain faded as his life slipped away then and there. Stormblade turned to see the other had started towards the staircase. He held his axe in a hand, and rushed the smaller figure. Dodging a bolt of lightning, he quickly leapt in the air, and brought his axe down with him. Even if he didn't hit him where it intended to, he had the upper hand.

As the Vampire became more pressed, it made more mistakes. A strong slam against the thigh bone of the Vampire sent it to the ground, and crying out in pain. The bone was shattered.

His life was ended as the blade at the top of the axe was shoved through his throat. The Vampire gargled as he died, before finally resting. Stormblade ripped the axe with a wet tearing sound. He walked forward before being surprised by an Orc. The warhammer he carried was made of iron. Grabbing his axe, he sidestepped a power attack. When the hammer stuck in the dirt, he slammed the Orc's jaw with his pole, snapping it immediately. The Orc stood despite this, but he could see the pain in the eyes of the Orc. Despite ripping his hammer back out of the ground, and marching around the place, angrily, it seemed as if his eyes and face told a different story.

"Kill me," He heard the Orc whisper, and a tear of pain and anguish fall down his face. The Nord screamed a battle cry, and lunged forward. The sudden surprising strength behind the attack left the Orc unable to defend properly. A stab to the thigh dropped him, where he sliced the Orc's throat with the blade. The body crashed onto the stone floor, and his blood pooled around his head.

He moved into the middle of the cavern, where a strange stone construction was found. An altar sat in the middle. His nose caught the smell of blood in the air, as he made his way towards said altar. When he rested his hand, he cried out in shock as his hand was pierced by a small blade. He looked at his hand, and saw that it had already begun knitting itself. He looked around, and noticed a purple flame had ignited in one of the chalices.

After matching all of the chalices to their correct spots, the floor began to shake, and move. After separating for a couple seconds, it began to lower into stairs. He stares at the stone compartment as the front began to move. As it lifted, a Vampire of seemingly nobility fell out of the stone. She caught herself before she smacked her skull, and coughed. She was startlingly beautiful.

"Where is...Who sent you here?" Like all Nordic women, her voice was easy on the ears. He chuckled.

"Who did you expect? Am I not your Prince Charming?" He laughed, and she looked incredibly puzzled. Her lack of reaction quickly sobered his mood.

"I was expecting someone...Well, someone like me." So that's why she didn't find the quip funny. Makes sense.

"A Vampire. Orange eyes, powerful scent, and a potent aura. I'd say you're one of the purest Vampires on this realm." He guessed, and she seemed taken aback by how much he could note within a quick couple of seconds.

"Despite my friends wanting me to kill you, I sense that you're not a threat to regular mortals. Why were you locked away like this?" He asked. His large hands moving in the air as he spoke.

"That...Complicated. I'm not sure I can trust you yet, either. Sorry." He nodded, respectfully. He would most likely do the same if it were him in her position.

"If you'd like to know the entire story, being me back to my family." She added, staring into his silver eyes.

"Done." He said, without a single thread of hesitation.

"My family used to live off of an island on the coast of Solitude. By the way, good to meet you. My name is Serana."

R&R, please! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

The trek to Solitude was nearly silent. Most of the sounds that were heard came from the wind, and the rain. They were left unbothered as well. Due to her undeath, most creatures quickly went the opposite way of her. He was left with time to think, and wonder. He was surprised by her age, as she had revealed that she had no clue that Cyrodiil sat at the center of the Empire, or that Skyrim had recently been freed from said Empire. He was at a loss of words at her sense of timelessness. This woman before him was thousands of years old, and she looked younger than he.

As they approached Solitude, she stood and spotted multiple wrecked buildings. Her orange eyes stared at them, and her face seemed to scrunch up in confusion. He stood besides her, and crossed his large arms. She looked at him, and the weight of what he had done to the city sat on his face. Despite wanting to free Skyrim, he had not wished to take the lives of that many of his kinsmen. He had decimated whomever faced him, and could have single-handedly sacked the entire city.

"You had a hand in the destruction, didn't you?" She asked him, and he turned to her. His silver eyes carried the weight of what he had done, and he nodded.

"I was the general of the army that freed Skyrim. Our final great campaign was taking the city of Solitude. After a speech from the leader of our army, we took the city. It was a tough battle, and I had spilled much blood. I hurt for those that I took from their families. We are now free from the Empire, but at what cost?" He said, and looked to her. She frowned, and bit her lip.

"I didn't mean to bring up bad thoughts. I just wanted to note what I saw. I can't imagine what that feels like." Her voice softened at the end, and he nodded. His face was a blank slate, as cold and steely as his armor. He quickly turned, and began to march in the direction of where they needed to go. She told him there was a boat on the side of Solitude, and on the icy beaches.

It had taken them another day to hike around the mountain surrounding Solitude. He had killed a deer, and prepared it as he was once taught many moons ago. Venison was a bit gamy, but it was good in its own way. It was apparent to her that he enjoyed it, but she had no need for human food. As she watched him eat, she felt an uncontrollable urge to seduce him, and to drain every ounce of blood from his system. He turned when she continued to stare at him. She attempted to stop, but a thousand years of being in a comatose state would drive any Vampire mad with thirst.

"You are thirsty. I can sense it. Bite me. I am invulnerable to the disease, and I would quickly heal from it." She zipped over to him incredibly fast, and grabbed him with impossible strength. She pulled him in, and incredibly sharp canine teeth were lodged into his throat. His silver eyes widened as she began to feed on him. Her tongue felt like sandpaper, as if it would scrape more blood from the wound she inflicted. He felt himself begin to weaken, and standing became hard. His vision waned, and nausea quickly set in. He dropped to a knee, and she was finally shocked back into reality.

"I'm...Sorry." He held up a large hand, and she saw all of the scars on it. These were the combined scars of a smith, and an experienced warrior. He closed his eyes, and channeled the power the Wolf gave him into his healing. He has never taxed the Wolf's healing abilities like this before, though.

When he had finally felt as if he were back at near-full strength, he stood. He towered over Serana, and offered her a weak smile. He was wary, though. She had almost fell into her instincts, and could have killed him. He would quickly make sure that she gained control over her urges, or else he would be forced to take an action he truly didn't wish he would have to.

"I appreciate that." She said, quietly. He looked over to her, and quickly sat down on a log. He didn't need to sleep, nor did he want to. The Wolf made sleeping restless, and it did nothing for him but pass time. He looked to her, and she could sense what he was questioning.

"I'm afraid of what you'll do while I'm asleep." She admitted. He nodded, and walked deep into the forest they were surrounded by. She didn't follow, and he didn't blame her. He emerged on the beach they would be going by, and quickly came face to face with a snow bear. His face became one of resolve, and determination. The giant creature rushed him, and rose into the air. A massive paw struck his chestplate. A horrible metallic screech could be heard, but the armor was barely marked by it. He growled at the bear, and struck the side of its face with his fist. The neck of the beast snapped backwards, and it roared again in outrage. He quickly dodged another swipe, and smashed his axe into it's leg, making it collapse onto its three legs. The wounded bear attempted to swipe at him, but he quickly lodged with axe deep into it's stomach. He twisted the blade at the top, and ripped it out.

The bleeding bear whimpered softly, and fell to its side. Stormblade fell to a knee besides it, and touched its neck. Channeling the strength of the Wolf, he snapped its neck, and ended it's torment. Despite how many men and creatures he has killed, he was not sadistic. In fact, every time he killed, he felt a bit of himself slowly fall apart. Especially when they were men he didn't know. Bandits were men who had raped and killed innocent people, so they were exempted. Soldiers, and guards? They were just ordinary people. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but they had died an honorable death. If it were one thing keeping him sane in a time of post-war, it was the fact that every man or woman he has killed in his life, it had been honorable, and worthy of the pride of the Nords of Sovngarde.

He quickly focused on resting on the beach, and began to lie there. Despite most not enjoying it, he enjoyed being in these parts of Skyrim. These icy parts made him who he was, and had shaped the warrior that he had become in his adult years. He remembered the times he had spent in his teenaged years travelling to the coldest parts of Skyrim with little tools or provisions, and forcing himself to find ways to find all before he had died. The tests were looked down upon by his parents, but…

 _No_. He would not think of that, and never would again. His past was that. The past. Focusing on it now would be pointless, and stupid. He closed his eyes, and felt himself fall into a deep sleep.

He was standing in the middle of Whiterun, seemingly in the middle of the day. It was silent, which was not typical for such a busy town. He closed his ears, and listened. He could hear the sounds of breathing, but he didn't hear heartbeats. His eyes snapped open, and he was face to face with an army of Vampires. He looked at the sun, and noted just how it appeared. The sun seemed to be dead. It was covered in darkness. He looked back to the army of undead, and watched as they tore into the men and women of Whiterun. The last image he saw was the poor child, Lucia, being ripped apart by a Master Vampire, with sadistic joy in his glowing orange eyes.

" **NO**!" He awoke, his silver eyes snapped open, and he flung upwards. Birds flew into the air, and he clutched his chest. His heart was beating frantically, as if he had just run across the continent of Tamriel. He stood, and tried to gain his bearings. How could he cope with what he had just seen? He sat back at his spot, and his eyes stayed open. There would be no more sleep for him.

When Serana had finally found the Nord, she saw him sitting against a dead tree. The smell of horror hung thick in the air, and she was curious as to what had happened. She had been awakened by the screaming of some poor fool, and she had bet that it was him. What could have made him yell as such, though?

His head turned once she had come close enough. The sickly smell of Vampire wasn't as bad with her. It was almost...Pleasurable. Specks of Lavender could be smelled through the smell of Vampire. He stood, and cracked his back, and his neck. He grabbed his axe, and his helmet. She took a good look of his face before he covered it.

A ruggedly handsome face was seen. While it was rugged, it was dark. Scars littered around his eyes, and one ran down from his right eye to his jaw. He sported a thick beard, and had shoulder-length black hair. His silver eyes stare back into her own orange ones. He nodded to her once, acknowledging her stare, and lowered the helm of Yngol over his face. His eyes were covered by the helm, and the wicked horns jagged into the air. He looked like an Ancient Nordic warlord.

Moving forward, they found the small canoe that led to the castle. It could be seen from the beach, though. The massive monstrosity of a building sat there menacingly. He could sense the evil of the place from the very spot that he stood. He watched her sit on the boat, and then pushed the small boat with his foot. When it was finally ready for him to enter, he stretched and made it, as opposed to swimming with armor.

He rowed, being much stronger than Serana. They were across the small separation within a couple minutes, and they enjoyed the silence. A low-hanging cloud expressed the feeling that this castle was bringing. The lack of sounds unnerved the Dragonborn. He was used the festivities of Nords. Whether that be music, or drunken rambling. The lack of any human or Vampires on the outside made him feel even more out of place. The entire place was...Dead. There was no better way to put it.

Standing on the barren beach, he held out a hand for Serana to take. She looked down at the scarred hand, and took it. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and placed her down on the beach. He stuck an oar in the sand, and waited for her to lead. It was her home, and he respected that.

"Hey, before we go in…" She trailed off, and he immediately knew that something was off.

"Is there something wrong? Are you alright?" He asked, and she seemed to get a small smile on her face.  
"I'm fine, I think. Thank you for asking. Listen, I know that your friends would like to kill everything that moves in this room, and I am hoping that you will show much more control than that. Once we're inside, just take my lead." She said, and her stare seemed to bore into his eyes. She was trying to make sure he didn't make a scene. Was it that bad in there? A powerful scowl sat on his face, and he pulled his helm up. His scarred eyes looked back at her, and she seemed to ease up.

"You wish for me to simply ignore whatever it is that I may see in there?" He asks. She nods, and he sighs.

"As difficult as that will be, I owe that much to you. Don't I?" He said, and pushed by her. She scowled at the back of his retreating form. He was a stubborn man.

As he approached the gate, an old man that reminded him of Vignar Gray-Mane stood outside. He wore leather armor, and stood next to a bell. The iron gate that was dropped showed that whoever lived here was extremely careful. It mattered little.

"Leave this place, or suffer the consequences!" The old man feebly cried. The Dragonborn's bushy left eyebrow lifted, and the old man's face set. He sincerely doubted this old man would make him suffer a shortage of breath, nevermind some sort of consequence. The old man's eyes widened when the smaller form of Serana skirted around the large Nord warrior standing in front of her.

"Lady Serana...Lady Serana is back, open the gate!" He cried. The Elder Scroll on her back was eyed at by the old man, and Stormblade lifted the Helm of Yngol over his head. He lowered it down, gently, and blinked. He looked over at the old man, and loomed over him. A throaty growl came from his throat, and the man quickly backed up. Stormblade chuckled, and easily opened one of the doors.

"How dare you trespass here! Wait, Serana…? Is that truly you…? I cannot believe my eyes." An Altmer stood in front of him, and a huge courtroom was behind him. The Nord heard the crying of the humans around the entire area, and he turned to Serana, immediately. She heard the movement, and looked down at one of his massive hands being tightly fisted. Her eyes widen, and she leans her head forward, signalling for him to stop.

"Everyone, Serana has returned!" The elf said, and every step towards the courtroom made him more and more sick. The physical urge to kill everything in here out of vengeance of these poor souls was hard to fight. He tightly closed both fists, and stood behind Serana. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the sights that surrounded him. Eventually he felt as if he was a coward for doing so. He opened his eyes, and was met with grotesque, horrifying images. Human bodies torn apart on the tables, men and women thin from their blood loss stood to the sides, shakily holding platters full of their own blood. His eyes flashed amber, a sign of the Wolf wanting to come out of its human shell.

"My long-lost daughter returns at last. I trust you have my Elder Scroll?" A Nord stood in the middle of the room, and shifted his weight onto his right foot. An evilly handsome face stared back at them, and glowing orange eyes met his own silver ones. The man's face seemed to recoil, and scrunch, as if he had just smelled a rotten body. The Dragonborn's own face set to steel, as his silver eyes were the only thing seen from his helm, he had little to worry about. His eyes shifted to the Vampires-literally-eating parts of the bodies that lay on the table. A Nord male's skull lay on the table, half eaten. One eyeball fell down to his cheek. The urge was becoming too strong for him at this point.

"Who is this stranger that you have brought into my hall?" The Dragonborn took a strong step forward, and placed himself in front of the smaller Nord. He looked down, and his silver eyes bore into the man's orange ones.

"My name is not to be known by the likes of you. I am the Last Dragonborn of legend. You can call me Stormblade." The first sentence was spit out with such hatred and malice that Serana was surprised. She knew that he hated cruelty, but the Stormblade in front of him was a much different man than the one who had rescued her in Dimhollow Crypt.

"For my daughter's safe return, you have my gratitude." The man crossed his arms, and stared up at the Nord in front of him.

"My name is Harkon. I am the lord of this court. By now, my daughter must have told you what we are." He said, as if he was too stupid to figure it out, himself. Anger coursed up the spine of the Dragonborn.

"You're a cruel cult of reclusive cannibals who prey on Skyrim and her people." His silver eyes seemed to be made of rage. His entire disposition showed that he was two seconds from attacking the Vampire Lord. Serana put a hand on one of his, and he continued to stare at the form of the Vampire Lord.

"Not quite, though I can see how an outsider can arrive at that conclusion. No, we are Vampires, among the oldest and most powerful of the province of Skyrim. We have lived here for centuries, far from all of the cares of the world. That is, until my traitor wife took everything that I love." The Dragonborn's rage didn't seem to be lowering, and now the Vampires around the room seemed to brace themselves.

"Is there a point to this story?" The Vampire definitely had a hard time living the disrespect down, as he had to take a second to compose himself.

"You have done me a great service, and so you must be rewarded." A horribly fake smile sat on his face, and the Dragonborn's eyes began to squint. The Vampire looked at the silver slits on the man's face, and quickly shook his head.

"There is but one gift that is equal to that of my Elder Scroll, and my daughter. I offer you my blood...Take it, and you will be a lion among men. Your very being approaching would make men tremble. You will never have to fear death again." The promise of power was not one that tempted the Dragonborn. He had no wish to become an undead mongrel. He was already becoming less and less enthused about becoming a Werewolf.

"I am a Werewolf." The man chuckled for a second, and nodded.

"Yes, I can smell it on you. The power of my blood will purge that filth, and it will make you whole again." The insult that he had just made against the men and women of the Companions, and Kodlak was crossing the line to him. He grit his teeth together.

"If I want to remain a Werewolf?" He said through tightened teeth. His jaw had began to hurt, but he refused to let it go. The Vampire seemed to be godsmacked to the Nord's stubbornness.

"Perhaps you need convincing? Behold the power!" He began to clutch himself, and an explosion of flesh happened. He covered his eyes, and the blood got onto his armor. He stared at the now transformed Harkon. The sight of which made his blood boil. The Wolf inside of him was now full-strength fighting to get out.

"If I don't want your precious gift?" His sarcasm was noted, and the beastly eyes of Harkon narrowed, obviously not wanting to have a man of this power as his enemy. He pointed at the door.

"I will banish you from here, and you will become prey like all the rest of the mortals. I will spare your life this once, though." He said, as if that was some sort of gift.

"I refuse your, 'gift,' there is no chance in Oblivion that I would join you." He bent over, shaking and writhing around. The magic of his blood causing him to transform. A fully grown Werewolf stood in the court, and a roar silenced all. He took a step forward, but was blasted backwards by Harkon. He felt himself being hoisted in the air, and flung through the solid oak doors. Anger rose through his entire being, and the Wolf nearly took over. He ran at the solid iron gate, and slammed his closed paw against it. The iron dented, but it didn't give way. Willing himself to transform back, he looked at the castle. Next time he was in Harkon's presence, it would be the end of him. It didn't matter what fancy magic he wanted to use. Harkon would die by his hand.

* * *

After rowing himself to the other side, he saw a small fort standing there in front of him. He saw an Altmer guard standing in front of him. It was a male, and it stood an inch taller than he. The disgust in its face was evident, as Elves usually carried a sneer on their face. The only place they were happy was in the Summerset Isles. The Elf looked at him, and the sneer intensified.

"Leave this place." It said, its tone as demanding and condescending as usual. The fiery Nord slammed a fist into the Elf's chest, sending him flying into the courtyard. He followed through, his anger directing him. He got slammed by something, and noticed an arrow was in his thigh. He snapped the wood, and looked up. He ran up the stairs to the balcony, and the archer pulled a dagger out. He roared, and continued running. Realizing that he wouldn't slow down, the Elf threw a fireball at him. The Dragonborn leapt over the spell, and slammed his axe down on the Elf, killing him immediately. He turned just in time to be blasted by a huge bolt of lightning. He fell to a knee, and smoke rose from his armor. He quickly stood, and leapt off the balcony. He engaged with the first Elf he saw.

The Elf drew a sword, and they circled one another. The Dragonborn quickly put the Elf in the shot that two archers seemed to have, making it harder for them to hit him. The Elf ran forward and slammed the sword down with all of his weight. Using the Elf's momentum, he slammed the flat of his axe down on the sword, and made it catch in the dirt. He slammed the axe against the chest of the Elf. The force of the blow sent him falling to the ground. He lifted the axe above his head, and slammed down again, easily tearing through the armor. He looked up to be hit in the stomach by two arrows. He roared into the air, and continued running towards them. He threw his axe at one, immediately killing him, and approached an Elf woman. She took out a sword, and he approached her with his axes ready to be used. He grabs them, and they begin to read one another. He made the first move. He went flying forward, and slammed the axe against her sword, causing her to lose her balance a bit. She stumbled, and quickly caught herself. She was extremely efficient with a blade, quickly using his injured leg against him. She feinted to the right, before quickly slicing the outer thigh of his left, in the same area that the arrow remained. He growled out of pain.

"Nice one, Elven whore." He spat out, and spat on the ground near her. He approached her, and looked for his own opening. He rushed her, and caused her to press. Slamming a shoulder into her chest sent her scrambling, and she fell over the body of another Elf. Her helmet fell below her eyes, and she looked up at the massive Nord. She closed her eyes, and she felt no more.

He ripped the two arrows in his stomach out, and felt annoyed at the extra pain of doing so. He had to remember in his anger that he wasn't invulnerable, no matter how fast he healed. A mixture of his armor and his Lycanthropy allowed him to heal faster than a mortal man should. He rolled his shoulder, and looked at the hard part. He quickly cleaned his fingers, and grabbed the head that was stuck in his thigh. He wordlessly stuck his fingers into the wound, and grabbed the arrowhead with his fingers. He narrowed his eyes, and ripped the head from his thigh. Fingering the elven arrowhead, he frowned. He shouldn't have killed those Elves out of anger, no matter how despicable they may have been. He didn't touch the blood, and put it in his satchel. This would be one he would save. His thigh bled for a second, before he watched it knit. He would have to travel across the province. This means he had to have healed legs, otherwise he would be useless. He stood, and quickly ate a small bit of horker jerky before he began his long walk.

* * *

By the time he had reached Solitude, the sun had begun to set. He would have to be on lookout, now. Figuring Harkon was not looking forward to their next meeting, he would mostly likely send the lesser Vampires after him. Maybe he promised them some form of reward, or a good opinion of them. It was all a lie. He wanted someone else to do the work he was afraid to do, and would think of them the same he had, before. However, this Nord wasn't going down by some cheap run-of-the-mill Vampire. No, if he went down, Harkon was going with him.

He was nearing Hjaalmarch when he first saw signs of Vampires. The sickly smell hung thick in the air, and the sound of breathing with no heartbeat seemed to surround him. He was outnumbered, but that didn't matter. He wouldn't be defeated. Just as one of them attacked, he quickly dodged the extremely sloppy swing of a dagger, and beheaded the Breton with an axe. His battleaxe would be too slow for this group.

Quickly dodging and weaving through two more Vampires, he blocked a sword strike from one, and grabbed another's arm. Using the Vampire's sword to block another's, he kicked one of them, sending them to the dirt. He flexed his arm, and shoved the Vampire's own sword in it's throat. The once Dark Elf fell to the floor dead. He turned just in time to be hit by three simultaneous draining spells. He fell to a knee, and felt himself becoming weaker. He roared into the air, the cry of a Nord in battle made anyone and everyone become terrified. They all quickly began to run from him. He ran forward after them, and leapt on one's back. He easily slit its throat, before slamming his right handed axe into the shin of one running by, severing his shin from his foot. He slammed the axe down on its back, and kept throwing it down. He found the last, and his shoulders fell and rose rapidly, and his breath caught in the air. This ends here. His wounds from the scuffle were openly bleeding, as the drain spell still weakened him. He quickly grabbed at the creature's arm. The two grappled, and the Dragonborn was stronger. He broke his arm at the elbow, and slammed his knee into the creature's ribs. The creature was lying, broken on the floor.

"Your end is nigh, monster." His voice said, softly. The energy he had lost was slowly coming back to him, making it easier for him to function. He took out his steel battleaxe, and looked down at the Vampire. It grabbed at his ankle, and he smacked the hand away with his axe. He raised it above his head.

"There will always be more of us. It matters little how much you kill. There will always be more." The Vampire said. The determination and anger in the words threw the Dragonborn off. With a final burst of angry energy, the Dragonborn swung down with all of his strength. Like a slice of cheese, his axe went through the neck of the Vampire. The head of the creature rolled into the wildlife of Skyrim. He trudged forward, holding a hand over his stomach. The nausea from the spell was quickly wearing off, and he straightened a bit. He would have to hurry to the fort.

Quickening his pace, he realized how distracting he was, and how his armor had seriously made him more of a target than normal. What other Nord wore the armors of the Ancients? He was the only one in the province to do so. He quickly made his way to Solitude, and asked a guard for a favor. He had bought a knapsack from Radiant Raiment. Paying the guard a few gold coins for the inconvenience, he placed his Ancient Nordic armor in the knapsack. He carefully placed the Helm of Yngol on the top. Despite the amazing durability of the helm, he still was taking no chances. Carrying it on his back, he held his axe in his arms.

* * *

There was no problems on the rest of the walk, as they hadn't expected him to change his armor. He looked like any other Stormcloak soldier in the region, and carefully make sure to blend in. When there was a patrol, he made sure he took a round, and explained to his friends what was happening. On the way back to the fort, he was in a group of nearly 20 men. All were names that grew during the Civil War.

Upon arrival, the first thing he noticed was the amazing amount of changes that had occurred. Isran was incredibly efficient, as the Fort looked as if it was brand new. Solid, high wooden walls surrounded the Fort. Archery posts stood high in the air, and a strong, blonde Nord woman sat at the top. She offered the Dragonborn a small smile, and a nod of the head. He nodded back, and walked with the men towards the Fort. He nodded to the Orc on the way by, and he eyed the large group of fit Nordic men with approval.

Opening the heavy doors with urgency, he quickly made his way into the Fort. Grabbing the man's attention with all of the men he brought into the fort, the Dragonborn was met with a bright...Smile...From Isran...Right…

"You're back. It's been a while, Dragonborn. I'm glad you came back. With men, too. You're full of surprises." He said. The Dragonborn stares at the men behind him, and he nods.

"This is a war, Isran. I was in their base. I know where they are operating, and I know how to destroy them at their source." His silver eyes widen with enthusiasm. Adrenaline caused his shoulders to rise and fall faster than they should have been.

"You need to rest, Dragonborn. You've had a hell of a week. Get some sleep, we'll talk when you wake up. I'll get your men ready." The man nodded, and wearily made his way towards the cots. He may not need much rest as a Lycanthrope, and it may not make him feel well rested, but it did help clear his mind, and allow him to have a moment of peace.

A bitterly cold blast of wind tore through Windhelm. Ulfric stood in his throne room, and grabbed for his axe. Banging on his door occurred, and he narrowed his eyes. When they opened, there stood many men. All were infected, and all were dangerous. Pairs of orange eyes glowed so bright they nearly illuminated the outside. He and Galmar stood tall, and the shaped advanced.

Unrelenting Force blasted them all back, and he did so repeatedly. However, in a moment of much needed rest, a Vampire surged forward. He passed by Galmar's outstretched hand, and stabbed the side of Ulfric. The Jarl cried out in pain, and angrily sliced the throat of the Vampire in retaliation. He turned just in time to see them run into his throne room.

"NO!" The men and women sleeping around the Dragonborn were suddenly woken, as the Dragonborn's power-filled voice cried into the night. It boomed off of the stone, and everyone stood around him. His darkened silver eyes shone in the darkness, and his shoulders trembled.

"Stormblade, are you alright?" One of his old friends in the war asked him. A solid hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up. The Nord reached out and brought his shield-brother into a tight hug. They held each other strong, as they once did in the war. A heavy clap on his back made him feel better.

"Happens to the best of us, friend. You need not worry of our opinions. Your actions in the Civil War allowed us to be free from the Empire. We are indebted to you." He said. The Dragonborn lifted his hand into the air, and shook his head. His shoulder-length hair shook.

"No...I am indebted to you. Without your and our comrades' enthusiasm, and your fiery, unbreakable spirits, I would not have been moved to destroy the holds of the Empire. To be honest, I still have my doubts. What comes next, my friend? Will the Thalmor strike now? I cannot see my homeland become a feeding ground of the Vampires, or back into the hands of the damn Elves." His stress had finally been spoken. Before this Vampiric issue, he had been preoccupied with the fear of the Elves of the Summerset Isles. Now-as Skyrim's protector-he had to worry about both.

"Let them come. Skyrim is ready to face those damn Elves." He said. The Dragonborn sincerely appreciated the man's attempt to make him feel better, and respected his steely resolve, but he was hopeless about this. He knew the Elves were powerful. Their use of magic is what made them the dominant power over Tamriel. He stood, and walked towards the dining room.

Standing in front of the fire pit, he got a slice of beef and salted it. Throwing it onto the pan, he waited for it to be done cooking. He sat back on the bench, and watched as a familiar Redguard took the seat next to him.

"I heard you yell. A nightmare?" The silver eyes of the Nord rest on the sky blue ones of the Redguard. A small nod was all the smaller man needed to see.

"I have noticed you carry a great weight on you. If it is about the Vampires, I would like to help." The man's tone was even, but the Dragonborn was surprised by his sudden care.

"I'm worried about Skyrim. I'm worried about her people. We're not just facing one threat, Isran. The Vampires are just one of the two sword heading to our throat. Even if we dodge one, the other is still on the path to the killstrike. I cannot allow my homeland to be taken by the Elves." The Redguard looked at him, and nodded. Isran stroked his head, and looked at the Dragonborn.

"I will be honest with you. You should have thought about that before acting in the Civil War. However, once this threat of Vampires of over, there will be another stroke of luck. You are the Dragonborn. You'll figure something out." It wasn't that good of help, but Stormblade was touched by the man's attempt.

"I can imagine you're excited to destroy Harkon." Stormblade said to Isran, who looked over. He unsheathed his warhammer, and held it in front of him.

"You'd better believe it." He said while fingering the hammer. He looked over, and the Nord chuckled. He grabbed a bottle of mead lying on the table and gulped it down. Belching loudly, the Dragonborn bumped an elbow into Isran, who looked both unimpressed, and unentertained.

"I can't wait to get my hands on that damn blood-sucking maggot." The memories of what had happened relayed in his mind, and he grit his teeth in anger. He felt his pride wounded, but that wasn't what bothered him. He was bothered by the fact that he had the chance, and he failed to do so.

"We're going to need more allies, Isran. I know you're not the best at forming alliances, but I hold major influence throughout the nine holds. I can make your case known to the entire province." Isran looked over, and he looked conflicted.

"While I do appreciate the offer, allowing these men to know what is going on will simply alert the Vampires. We need to know what they're up to." He said. The Dragonborn's mind focused on one simple detail.

"Oh, Shor's Bones! They have an Elder Scroll!" Isran spat out his drink, and stared at the Nord besides him.

"You let them have an Elder Scroll? What on Nirn were you thinking?" The Nord's eyebrow rose, and he felt aggravated.

"Did you expect me to focus on that as I engaged combat with the most powerful Vampire on our continent?" Isran's eyes softened, and he sat back against the table. A smell quickly came into the air, and the Nord stood. He poked a large fork into the pan, and grabbed his beef. Slapping it on his plate, his stomach growled.

"I'm glad you made it out alive. Without you, I don't think we could successfully end this." The Redguard admitted, to the dismissive wave of the Nord.

"You're a stubborn cur, Isran. You would face Harkon and his court single-handedly if you had to." Isran's eyes sparkled with a sense of joyous wonder, and the Dragonborn laughed.

"So, you don't go by a name? Just, 'Dragonborn,' or, 'Stormblade,?" Isran asked the man, who nodded. He looked down at this gauntlets, and his eyes took a faraway look.

"I once went by a name. Long ago, when I was a different person. Upon adulthood I stopped using a name. When I was discovered to be the Dragonborn, I simply went by that. When I became the General of the Stormcloak Armies, I became Stormblade. Those are my names, now. They are who I am. Not who I was." He said, and showed the physical signs of not wanting to speak about the subject anymore. Isran nodded in respect, and looked back in front of him.

"I was a Vigilant of Stendarr for a number of years. I was one of the best fighters in there, as I was the only one who could properly fight. The others were lazy, and stupid. Good men, but not good warriors." He turned, and the man nodded. The Dragonborn has come across many men such as that over his time.

"As the Harbinger of the Companions, I have come across the same. While I love the history of the Companions, the actual guild is not what it should be. We are supposed to be honorary warriors, not swords for sale." He said, and the Redguard nodded. He agreed wholefully.

"While I have enjoyed this talk, I have a task for you to accomplish. First, I need you to go out and recruit two of my old accomplices. A big Nord, named Gunmar, and a Breton named Sorine. Escort them back here. They're both extremely valuable assets to our cause." He said, and nodded. The Dragonborn looked down at the locations written on a piece of paper, and looked at the Redguard.

"I suggest that I look for other allies whilst I travel. We are going to need as much help as we can get, Isran. With my ties to Ulfric, we could have thousands of men prepared to fight this battle. With ties to Vignar and the Companions, we could have several extremely powerful warriors to lead. The Mages of Winterhold would most likely help, as well." He said. The Redguard looked at his hands.

"Alright. You have five days, Dragonborn. Get Sorine and Gunmar, and hurry across the province." He said, and nodded. The Dragonborn's face sets, and he grabs his knapsack. He strips down out of the Stormcloak armor, and put the familiar weight of his armor back on. The Ancient Nordic armor was on in a minute, and he grabbed for the Helm of Yngol. He proudly sat it on his head, and looked down at the Redguard.

"Alright, alright. We get it, you're a Nord and you're proud. You're wasting time." Isran said, with a small crack of a smirk in the corner of his lip. The Dragonborn shot him a look, before he made his way towards the exit. This mission held more gravity than one would truly expect it to. Since Gunmar was in the Rift, he would go straight to him.

* * *

He listened to the sounds around him, and used his sense of smell to judge where he was going. Feeling the breeze across his face with his eyes closed was a great feeling. A good way to unwind. He turned, and was faced with an empty clearing. Continuing forward, he had what seemed like a few more hours of walking to get to where Gunmar was said to be. Along the way, he found himself missing Serana. Despite her usual silence, it was nice to have the company of someone on nights such as this. Walking the roads of Skyrim alone at night was both beautiful, and totally lonely.

As he took the path that would lead him to her, he noticed that there was blood all around the floor. He followed the trail, and realized that it was a carriage driver. He had been cut down in cold blood, and most likely devoured. He smelled the sickly smell of Vampires on the cart, and looked down at his feet. He followed the trail into the nearest cave, and smelled the air. He would have to be careful, lest he lose an arm. Or worse.

Carefully treading to the middle of the cave, he spotted the body of the dead Nord. He looked frightened, even in death. The Nord quickly rushed towards him, and dropped onto a knee besides his kinsman. For a second, he forgot where he was. Anger coursed through his veins, as he remembered all of the innocent men and women that these monsters had killed. No more Nords were going to be killed by Vampires. That he would promise.

"It seems as if he's mourning." A Dark Elf Vampire said, causing the Wood Elf friend to laugh. He turned to see five total Vampires. Those two elves, an Imperial woman, and two Breton men. He unsheathed his axe, and paced the floor. There would be no holding back in this fight. Anger pumped through his veins, and they lifted their hands. He roared and ran forward, charging them. He slammed a shoulder into the Wood Elf, sending the creature slamming into the side of the cave. The rocks shook, and the wall cracked where the Elf had hit. Turning afterwards, he tripped another Vampire with his pole. He slammed the axe on the face of the Dark Elf, while the others began to fight him. He slammed a sword down with his axe, and kicked one of the Breton square in the chest. The strength behind the kick sent the much smaller man careening in the air, before finally slamming onto the floor. While using the momentum he began to build, he slammed his axe down on the shoulder of the Imperial, sending her now detached arm flying across the cave.

He spun, and slammed his axe down on the sword of another. He felt the draining spell begin to hit him, and he ignored the effects. Using his superior strength, he smashed a fist against the second Breton male, dislodging three teeth, and sending two of them flying out. He grabbed him by the throat, and threw him into the Imperial woman. He was taken aback as the Wood Elf jumped onto his back, and stabbed him in the side with a dagger. He roared in pain, and grabbed the neck of the Wood Elf. Holding him in the air like a sack of flour, he growled and snapped the Elf's neck in his steel-like grasp.

He turned, and slammed the body of the Wood Elf against the Breton he had thrown. The leg of the Wood Elf was holding on by thin tendons, and one of his eyeballs lazily hung out of his skull. The Dragonborn casually tossed it aside, and turned. He was just in time to see the Breton rushing him, with the waraxe high above his head, he began to swing, and the Dragonborn quickly sidestepped. He grabbed the arm that was swinging, broke it in a fluid motion, lifted the man into the air, and slammed him on the floor. He slit his throat with his blade while he was down. As the Imperial Vampire was the only one left, she was crawling to the exit. Her left arm was missing at the shoulder, and her other bones were broken from the impact of the man hitting her. She groaned with each pull, and he grabbed her hair. He lifted her into the air by her hair, and listened to her scream in pain.

"Is this what he sounded like?" The Nord asked her, and slammed her face off of the stone wall. He continued to do so until her face was unrecognizable. He threw her body ten feet away from him, and looked at the damage he had done. He ripped the dagger from his side, and threw it down into the dirt. The wound closed quickly, and healed efficiently.

He took a step out of the cave, and saw the carriage sitting there. He walked over to it, and finally spotted the body of the horse. They had killed the horse, as well? This was a cowardly act. He did notice another Vampire close to the horse, so he can imagine this must have been a magnificent mount. He walked over to the horse, and pet the stomach of the beast. He walked over to the Vampire's body, and spat on it, hoping it burned in whatever plane of Oblivion it was in.

Pushing towards the carriage, he figured he would at least help the people of Skyrim. Grabbing one end of it, he began using his powerful thigh muscles to push the carriage onto the side of the road, where it wouldn't be a bother to anyone else. He stood tall, and walked away. His axe was in his right hand, where it stayed. He would take no more chances with these Vampires, and he would show no more mercy. They did not deserve it.

* * *

He finally came to a cave, and saw a large Nord male fighting against a bear. He had just dodged a swipe and struck the bear when the Dragonborn interfered. Using the power in his legs, and his weight, he ran towards the animal. He dropped his shoulder, and slammed into the creature, sending it tumbling down the hill. He hated to kill the beast, but he needed this man to go back with him.

"You there, hold fast! I have tracked this bear for two weeks. I'm glad it won't be having anymore victims." He said. The Dragonborn nods, and looks at him.

"Isran needs your help." He said, and the man's eyes widen. He the narrows them.

"Isran? Needing someone's help? Never thought I'd hear that. He made it perfectly clear last time I saw him that he was fine on his own." The Nord said, and looked into the cave.

"We're dealing with Vampires, and they have an Elder Scroll. Are you still going to listen to what Isran once said? Or what I'm saying now?" The Dragonborn snapped out of aggravation. The other Nord deadpanned.

"That...Changes things. By the eight...I can't just leave this bear for more victims, though." Before he was done speaking, the Dragonborn had made his way into the cave. He saw two bears, rather than one. One launched at him, and he caught its paws in midair. He threw it off balance, and grabbed his axe. He slammed it into the sides of the bear, bleeding it. As it stood again, he slammed the blade at the top into its heart, causing it to fall. The other bear was larger. He would need to be more careful with this one.

He circled it around, and let Gunmar get behind it. Giving a small nod, he charged the front, and Gunmar leapt on its back. The Dragonborn mocked a charge, and let Gunmar stab the bear's windpipe, causing it to die. They easily left the cave with two large bear pelts, and made their way back to the fort.

"I'm going to leave you in the Canyon. I have six days to go to Markarth, and any other allies I have, to get them on our side. Isran is in the Fort, be wary of Vampiric activity in front of the door. I'm sure you can handle yourself, but I know they've been more aggressive, lately." The Dragonborn warned his kinsman. The Nord nodded, and made his way into the cave.

Nodding his head, his first stop would be Riften. He began to jog, as his time was limited. He couldn't afford to waste time by being slow.

* * *

It had probably taken him a half hour to jog from the Canyon, and he was finally in Riften. He quickly pushed the doors open, and found Mjoll in her usual spot.

"Mjoll! There is something that is extremely important that must be brought to your attention. Vampires. They have an Elder Scroll. I need your help. Go to Fort Dawnguard, in Dayspring Canyon. It is impossible to miss. I'll explain more when I get there." He quickly left the city, and ran north. He would arc up to Windhelm, and then Winterhold, and then Dawnstar, before falling down to Whiterun, Falkreath, and then over to Markarth.

He began his run to Windhelm. The roads in the Rift were probably the most dangerous, as the Rift didn't have a patrolling guard. Whether it be Frostbites, bears, etc. These roads contained many dangers. He could not afford to be distracted by anything here, as it would lead to his death.

The sun set, and he was in the dark. Looking at his map, he realized he was less than halfway there. It would take him a day just to reach Windhelm. He continued his march, undeterred by his feeling of total hopelessness.

He couldn't sleep, or eat. He had no time to do so. By the time he had finally gotten into Eastmarch hold, he began to see the usual sign of Vampires. He couldn't leave them alive, but he couldn't be held back for too long, either. They must have known this, previously. An entire group of them waited for him.

"You are not going to your precious Stormcloaks. You think Harkon would let you gather that sort of ally?" The arrogant Elf asked. He recognized this man. Vingalmo, the High Elven Vampire. He paced quickly in front of the Elf, and swung his shoulders. He was loosening up for this battle. He would not be incapacitated by these soulless beings. He waited for the Vampires to make the first moves, and they did. A sloppy charge from a nameless Vampire caused him to slam the pole against his face, and decapitate him in seconds. He spun just in time to sidestep a sword, and slam his elbow into the nose of the Vampire. He got him in a headlock, and deflected a sword from another Vampire. They all charged him at once, and he knew he could not play this smartly.

Unleashing a battle cry that would make his ancestors proud, he readied himself for the sudden wave of monsters. Ten of them immediately turned, and began to run. He had mere seconds before he would be overrun.

He deflected a sword from one, and spun, he caught the side of one's throat with his second blade. The Vampire fell with a wet rip, and he watched the other four circle around him. He swung down at one's leg, and quickly swung at the sword that made its way towards him. He deflected the sword, and swiped upwards, sending it flying into the air.

The swordless Vampire got its spell ready, but he smashed his axe into the undead creature's shoulder. It lodged there, and he left it. The arm using the spell was utterly useless, as he couldn't move it. The Dragonborn unsheathed his two axes at his hips, and lifted them. He slammed a sword approaching his face with the blade of the left axe, and slammed the axe into the right thigh of one Vampire. He ripped across, dropping the creature to one leg. He felt a sword slam against the back of his shoulder, and spun with the axe going with him. The blade slammed down on the skull of the creature, who died nearly on impact. He roared into the air, as blood began to sheen on his skin. Soon, the Vampires who had run came back, and a pile of them were on top of him.

When a courier passed by, he merely saw a pileup like no other. There was something strange going on, though. It was as if the entire pile was moving. He heard shuffling from underneath all of the bodies, and a scarred hand suddenly ripped from the bottom. The hairy limb grabbed the dirt in front of the pile, and began to pull. When it wasn't able to move, it shuffled, and ended up in the opposite way. A roar of effort was made, and a body went flying off of the pile. A deep breath was taken, and a face emerged from the pile. Blood covered his face, and his hair. He blinked once, and took a look at the night sky.

When he had finally freed himself, he looked down at himself. He was caked in blood. His armor was red, and his hands were as well. He felt for his head, and the Helm of Yngol wasn't there. Panicking, he grabbed at the nearest body, and ripped it to the side. He did the same with anything that got into his way until he fell to a knee, and found the helm. It was without a scratch. Lifting it, he looked at the horned helmet, and put it against his forehead. This helm had been with him through a lot, and the helm had been through even more with the previous owner.

Yngol had died in this helm, and his father, Ysgramor, had felt the need to bury his son in said helm. When the Dragonborn had made it to Sovngarde in the Helm, the man had nearly been moved to tears, and his soul had a moment of rejoice with the Dragonborn. Since the son had died in a storm, he hadn't been worthy of entering Sovngarde. He was the closest thing to Yngol in the flesh, and so the man broke down. He would never let this helm fall into the hands of another, for they would never understand the connection that they would truly make with it. It wasn't just his helm. It was his history.

He fixed his armor, and straightened himself out. He would need to wash himself, and soon. He had no time, though. He needed to get to Windhelm. He stood in the middle of the road, and began walking to the city of Ysgramor, and the home of the Stormcloaks. His mind flashes to when he was first meeting Ulfric as a free Nord, and the way that the man had looked at him. That was nearly three years ago. Three years ago, he had been coming back from his march around Tamriel, where he finally reached the Imperial City.

Joining the Stormcloaks wasn't something that he originally planned on doing. It was surprising to find himself in the throne room of Ulfric, asking him to join. He remembered the unsure look. He was correct to have done so. While he was still a strong fighter, and a strong Nord, he lacked the experience that he has now. The Dragonborn walked, as he lacked the energy to jog. He would drag himself to Windhelm if he had to, the Gods wouldn't be able to stop him from reaching there.

As he neared the city, a cold blast of wind slammed into him. He fell to a knee, and coughed. The phlegm that had built up during the fight came tumbling out of his throat, and he fell back onto his back. Maybe he needed a second to rest, after all. While the Lycanthropy gave him great stamina, he was not inexhaustible.

He grabbed at the dirt in front of him, and pulled himself back up. He was only an hour away from the city. He would fight his way to there. Even if his wounds were wounded, it took energy to heal, and his body had spent all of it during the fight. Even though he had been used to fighting multiple enemies, fifteen blood-starved Vampires were a different story.

He had finally arrived in Windhelm when he fell down onto his knees. He slammed against the stone, and heard the voices around him floating, as if they weren't truly speaking to him. He finally felt his eyes begin to burn, and closed them. Sleep embraced him for the first time in nearly three years.


End file.
